Post Hoc
by A. Windsor
Summary: Sequel to Repeated History. It was one moment, one mistake, that changed the fate of the world, one stolen moment that reversed one family's generations of good.
1. Prologue

**_Author's Note: _**_This is the sequel to Repeated History. It's a good idea to read that one first, but probably not necessary. This will be decidedly darker, focusing on the days of Camelot's establishment, and the part of the legend no one talks about. We all know Jordan is Wyatt's Guinevere, but there was one part we all forgot: Arthur and Lancelot were brothers in arms, Wyatt and Chris are brothers in blood. What does this variation mean for the future of the world?_

**_

* * *

Post hoc, ergo propter hoc. "After this, therefore because of this."_****

* * *

Prologue**

The beach was quiet, as usual, save for the gentle lapping of the small waves upon the shore, specifically on one small boy's bare feet. The boy, blessed with a head full of unruly blond curls and a pair of brilliantly blue eyes, squatted in the waves, the sleeves of his white Oxford neatly rolled to his elbows by a loving hand and his khaki shorts ending just above tanned knees. Both the shirt and shorts were spotted with sea spray, the sticky cotton of the button-down revealing a complexion darkened by years on the sandy shores of this nearly deserted island, just as his slightly freckled nose revealed too many lost sun hats. He was about six, and his young attention was fixed on an object just below the barely breaking surface. He squatted closer, oblivious to the sea water filling his back pockets as he did so.

"What do you think he is looking at?" a tall young man in his late twenties asked in a low tone to the woman beside him.

His companion looked very young, barely out of her teenage years, but in truth she was much, much older. She allowed her hair, long and sun-burnt brown, to fly loose in the sea breeze, the sun catching the natural blond and red highlights for only a moment at a time before the wind blew it into a completely new arrangement. Beneath the frolicking strands, two pale green eyes were hidden, their sadness even further masked by the smile brought at the sight of her inquisitive son.

"Something bound to get him into more mischief," she answered, her light tone failing to disguise her constant sorrow from the man at her side.

The man allowed a small smile, watching the boy's hand dart quickly underwater and emerge in possession of whatever had been interesting him.

"Mama!" the boy cried, his shout and the splashings of his feet in the surf breaking the silence of the beach as he tore up the sand towards them. "Mama! I caught him!"

Arriving at his mother, he opened his small fist to reveal a shelled crab resting on his palm.

"He's beautiful, Phee," she praised, "He must have been very hard to catch."

"Yep. I had to watch him for hours and hours," the boy explained, bright eyes searching his mother's face for the smile he so loved to bring her. Her eyes met his, first noticing the curls plastered to his forehead with sea water, and he was rewarded with that coveted beam of approval and happiness.

"Better be careful with him, Phee. He has some nasty claws on him," the man warned affectionately.

"Oh, I will, Uncle Chris," the boy started to respond, but was cut short as the creature chose the moment of distraction to exact his revenge. The boy yelped and threw his hands in the air, a shimmery blue light spreading around him in a protective shield as he drew his hand tenderly against his belly.

His uncle laughed softly and waved a hand towards the repelled sea creature, lifting him off the sand with invisible hands and re-depositing him in his original habitat.

"Come here, baby," the mother beckoned soothingly to her son, gently coaxing his shield down as she reached for his offended hand.

There was an angry red pinch where the thumb met the palm, and a few pricks of blood dotted its edges. His fingers curled defensively, reflexively around the injury. She used a light touch to push his chubby fingers back, but in the process brushed his wound. The shield leapt to life again, pushing her back onto the sand bank.

"Mama!"

The boy immediately forgot his injured appendage and buried his head in the soft linen of his mother's white tunic, mumbling his apology repeatedly.

"Shh, baby," his mother calmed him, "It's not your fault. It's just a part of who you are."

"I didn't mean to, Mama, honest," the distraught boy promised, peppering kisses on his mother's belly.

The mother laughed lightly, both at her son's earnest innocence and the tickling effects of his butterfly kisses.

"Look at me, Phee," she commanded gently, spreading her arms so the boy could get full view of her body as he rocked back on his heels in the sand. "No harm done. Are you ready to go eat dinner?"

"No!" the boy cried, glancing back towards the setting sun. "I still have this much more daylight." He held his hands six inches apart to underscore his point.

"Okay, darling, just a few more minutes then."

He grinned his thanks and ran off.

Beside her, the young man offered his hand to help her to her feet.

"He's a powerful little boy already," the boy's Uncle Chris observed, watching the mother dust the sand off the royal blue wrap knotted at her hip.

"I know," the mother answered, her sorrow back in full force, now tinged with fear.

"He can't find you here, Jay," he assured her, resting a hand on her shoulder in an attempt at comfort. "The island is protected, isolated. Aunt Phoebe wrote the spell, remember? It's air-tight."

She took a few steps away from him, towards the small fishing village around the point of the beach, the island's only settlement. She glanced first at her son, newly involved in the sea's edge again, then back over her shoulder at the villa rising behind Chris's shoulder.

"Phoenix is his _son_, Chris. He will _never_ stop until he finds him. They have a connection, and it is only a matter of time before he finds some way to get to us."

Chris's heart broke all over again, knowing she did not see the villa she now called home, but an old Victorian manor once filled with all of the love a family could stir up. The sun caught her highlights again as it cast shadows across her face. If she had been mortal still, the pain would have etched lines of mourning into her beautiful face; her immortality, however, left her skin smooth and young, leaving only the pale green of her eyes to tell of her grief. He had loved her once, in the passionate, full way a young man loves a woman, full of the vigor of youth and the innocence of first love. It had been a dangerous, disastrous love, one that had caused all of this pain now weighing heavily on her graceful shoulders. The love faded in the ensuing agony of realization, the passion replaced with a brotherly affection and respect, but the damage was already done.

"I won't let him find you two, Jay, I promise."

As she turned to him, he saw a single tear slide down her cheek, losing itself in the crevice of her lips. How many tears had she let fall since the chaos? He could remember each single tear she allowed him to see in the years before it had happened: at her wedding, Phee's birth, his Wiccaning. The salty drops of the post-chaos days bled together in his mind.

"You can't stop him, Christopher," she whispered, her voice shaky with her withheld tears.

With that, she wiped the traces of sorrow from her face as she knelt to catch her beloved son as he leapt into her arms. A shiver entered the base of Chris Halliwell's spine as he escorted Jordan and Phoenix back towards their villa, and it was not caused by the breeze drifting in from the Mediterranean Sea.

_After this, _his mind echoed, _therefore, because of this._

_

* * *

Disclaimer: I own Jordan Berkley Halliwell, little Leo Phoenix Berkley Halliwell, and the plot. And that's about it._


	2. Chapter One: Devils and Dust

**Chapter One**

_"But what if what you do to survive kills the things you love? Fear's a power thing; it'll turn your heart black you can trust. It will take your God-filled soul, fill it with devils and dust." Bruce Springsteen, "Devils & Dust"_

**_Magic School, 2029_**

The room was still and dark, any outside light blocked by the heavy red curtains lining the walls. On the bed, Jordan Berkley Halliwell slept curled on her side, snow white sheet tucked under her arm. She looked comfortable, and she smiled in her sleep. The grand bed seemed to dwarf her small frame, and, despite her comfort, she appeared almost lonely. The other half of the bed had remained untouched throughout the night, the comforter still tucked sharply into the bed frame as the maids had prepared it during the previous day.

The tall French doors to her bedroom gently swung open, a small towhead poking through the crack just below a darker, larger head.

"Le's ge' her," the two year old giggled, nose crinkling under smiling blue eyes.

"Shh, Phee," the older head admonished in a whisper. "We can't let her know we're coming."

"Oh!" the toddler gasped just as loudly as before, smacking a chubby hand to equally plump lips. "Sowwy."

On the bed, a pale green eye slowly opened, eying the door and wedge of light it allowed warily.

"Sneaky, little man, remember that," Wyatt Halliwell reminded his son, opening the door enough for Phoenix to slip in and "tip-toe" toddle towards his "sleeping" mother.

The boy leapt onto the bed, with the help of his father, and hopped onto his mama's tummy.

"Wyatt Halliwell," Jordan groaned after a muffled 'oof'. "You're so going to pay for this."

"I can't wait," Wyatt grinned, watching his son bounce happily on Jordan's stomach. "Now you better wake up and say good morning to your son before he breaks a rib."

When Jordan finally sat up, she snaked her hands around Phoenix's waist and flipping him onto his back. His boisterous laughs filled the tranquil corridors of their wing of Magic School as she began to tickle him without mercy.

"Well, _good morning._ Aren't we awake today," a new arrival threw his voice into the fray.

"Why hello, Uncle Christopher," Jordan smiled, "Phee, go say good morning to your uncle."

Phoenix crawled out from under his mother obediently, blond curls mussed and dinosaur pjs with bright green footies rumpled. He slid off of the tall four-poster bed, Wyatt delivering a playful pat on his thick, diapered rump as he passed.

"Seilya said breakfast is ready," Chris announced as he stooped to greet his nephew with a bear hug.

"We'll be right there," Jordan assured him.

Chris met her eyes and flashed a bright smile before escorting his young nephew to the breakfast table, making an honest effort to understand the boy's jumbled words.

Jordan rose, lifting one of Wyatt's shirts off of an end post and slipping it over her shoulders left bare by the thin straps of her tank top.

"You didn't come to bed last night," she observed. He was still seated on the bed, and she glanced back at him over her shoulder.

"I just got home a few minutes ago. I was at Mom's, working with Chris and Casey until late. I just got a little sleep over there."

"Have something against orbing under the influence of sleep?" Jordan asked, barely keeping the bite out of her words. "That's pretty hard to believe."

Wyatt sighed, feeling the by now familiar indignation rising in his chest. "Please, Jordan, not now."

"I actually would like to sleep next to my husband at least a couple nights a week. Is that so much to ask?"

"I didn't want to wake you. I'm sorry, okay?"

"No, it isn't okay, Wy. You come home for maybe an hour a day, play with Phoenix, and leave. You can't even give up one day, just to spend with your son and _wife_." Her voice was still low, so it wouldn't carry out of the open doors and to their son's ears, but her frustration was mounting. She pivoted away from him, ready to leave the argument behind them for the breakfast table.

He came up behind her and kissed the top of her head tenderly, hands reaching about her waist.

"I miss you. I'll try better, I promise."

"I know that you will; it's just…"

"C'mon Mom and Dad!" Uncle Chris cried playfully from the breakfast table, interrupting Jordan mid-thought. Phoenix's giggles followed.

"We're coming!" Jordan returned, slipping out of Wyatt's arms and smiling gently at him. She knew he was holding something back (sometimes he forgot she was his White Lighter). It hurt, but she also believed him when he claimed he would try harder. "Let's go, Daddy."

"Right behind you, Mama," he grinned lightly back, placing a kiss on her forehead and turning her towards the door.

"You just like the view," she accused, their previous argument replaced with teasing banter.

Guilt at hiding the truth pushed to the back of his mind, Wyatt followed her, basking in the comfort of his family.

_It's worth it, _he thought, _Protecting this is worth a couple of incomplete truths._

_

* * *

_

"What'd you find out?" Wyatt asked later that day, orbing into the attic of his childhood home and immediately directing his attention to his diligently studying cousin.

Casey looked up quickly from the piles of books laid out on the floor around her. With her bangs falling into her dark eyes, Casey was amazingly reminiscent of the earlier pictures of Aunt Phoebe.

"Nothing. Again. Nothing, nothing, nothing," Casey sighed. "And I only have half an hour before I'm due at my dad's. So unless you plan on discreetly orbing me over to his apartment full of my three, younger, completely mortal siblings, I have to go."

"Nothing!" Wyatt cried in frustration, resisting the urge to blow up the useless reading material.

"Sorry, Wy," Casey tried to console, climbing out from under the books and dusting off her black trousers. "Maybe Jordan can help... you know, remember something from her earlier White Lighter days…"

"No! Jordan's not to know anything about this, in any way. Got it?"

"All right, all right," Casey acquiesced, raising her hands in innocence. "Do I look like I've been doing everything my father has asked me not to do since I was a small child?"

Wyatt rolled his eyes.

"No, you look fine," he assured her before teasing, "Everything he's ever asked you not to do? You haven't been experimenting with drugs again, Case, have you?"

"No, Wyatt," Casey groaned, heels clicking on the wooden attic floors as she crossed to collect her purse and phone.

"Crazy sex with a total stranger?" Wyatt ribbed.

"God, I wish," Casey lamented and then smiled, noticing the panicked horror flashing on her eldest cousin's face.

"TMI, Case… Way TMI." He collapsed onto the couch, head in hands as the frustration continued to pile up on him.

Casey smiled gently and placed a kiss on Wyatt's cheek. "Don't worry, Wyatt. We'll figure it out eventually. Mom and Aunt Paige are still out exploring the lead you gave them earlier. It's gonna be okay. How's little Phoenix doing? I'm gonna try to stop by tomorrow, alright?"

"Yeah, Jordan would like that. A lot. I think she's a little lonely, staying there with Phoenix all day. Chris is really her only visitor, and it's hard to get Phoenix out into the mortal world since he doesn't quite understand about keeping his powers secret."

"Then I'll definitely try to get over there. I've got to get on the road, now, so call me if there's a break, alright?"

"Got it, cous'," Wyatt promised, hands gravitating towards his temples to try to massage the omnipresent headache away.

He hated keeping things from Jordan, but he couldn't bring himself to worry her over this, to involve her in something that could steal her from him. The dying seer's last words from a month earlier replayed on a constant loop in his head, gaining in volume every time he touched his wife or heard his son's laughter.

_"Your queen… your heir… danger… losing them…"_

Wyatt shuddered. He would not let that happen, at any cost. They were his rock, and his life-sustaining grasp on them was slowly slipping away.

_"I do not want the world if it will cost me my family," _he swore to himself.

Closing his eyes, he searched for the familiar presence of his brother and found it just downstairs in the kitchen. He took the stairs two at a time, as he had in childhood, and was quickly at Chris's side.

"Sorry to interrupt, Mom," Wyatt started, kissing his mother quickly on the cheek before grabbing his brother's upper arm. "I need Chris for a bit… Round Table business and all."

And with that, he orbed them out.

* * *

"Mama," Phoenix called from his playroom. "Mama! Unka Kiss-toe-fur."

Jordan set down the novel she was trying to absorb herself in and crossed to the doorway of the library. She poked her head out of the door just in time to see Chris emerge from the playroom with Phoenix on his hip.

"Hello, Christopher. Twice in one day… What a lovely surprise."

Chris smiled affectionately at his sister-in-law, passing off the toddler as he whined for his mother.

"Just thought you could use some company," Chris explained his presence as Jordan blew a raspberry kiss on her beloved baby boy's cheek.

Jordan met his eyes skeptically. Panic passed over Chris's face as she began her admonishment.

"You don't have to put yourself between Wyatt and me, Christopher, but don't you lie to me. From now on, just tell me he sent you and be done with it."

"Alright," Chris acquiesced, "But I did really think you could use some company: you spend your whole day cooped up in here with Phoenix. You should put him in the nursery at Magic School someday and take some time to go out into the real world for a day… But not today…"

"Of course not today," Jordan sighed. _Wyatt would never allow for that. He's worried about something, and he won't tell me about it…_ "Just forget it; Phoenix has tried the nursery many times, but he's too powerful. I leave him there, and he orbs out back to me. If I stay with him there, he turns the other children into the toys they are playing with or something equally mischievous. He's too much like his father."

"You could always bind his powers," Chris offered as Jordan led him into the library and they took a seat on the reading couch.

"No!" she answered forcefully, sending Phoenix to retrieve one of his picture books from his shelves. "His powers are a part of who he is, and I will not deny him a part of himself."

They stayed in silence for awhile as Phoenix rifled through his books in search of a good one.

"I think," Chris finally said, "That he will be more powerful than his father."

Jordan looked up at him sharply as her son climbed into her lap with his chosen story and gentlemanly opened the book for her, blue eyes turning up to beg for a beginning.

"I fear, Christopher, that you might just be right."

To Be Continued


	3. Chapter Two: My Immortal

**Chapter Two**

_"You used to captivate me by your resonating light, but now I'm bound by the life you left behind. Your face, it haunts my once pleasant dreams. Your voice, it chased away all the sanity in me." Evanescence, "My Immortal"_

**Somewhere in the Mediterranean, 2033**

When visiting Jordan and Phoenix on their secluded island, Chris often liked to spend his afternoons walking the dusty, cobble-stoned streets of their tiny fishing village. The children stared up at him in awe, usually, while the adolescents ignored him. The elders always greeted him with a reverent _signor_. Younger adults treated him more as an equal, engaging him in conversation in their Italian dialect as they shared a drink in the market. A topic rarely broached in these conversations was Jordan, who they referenced only as _la nostra duchessa _or _la nostra signora di dolore_. (Our Duchess or Our Lady of Sorrow) They never questioned how she came to live in the grand villa above them with only her son and a small staff. She seemed a taboo subject; small children were shushed when they inquired into the whereabouts of the father of their companion _Riccio_ (curly). Chris believed that they knew that whatever the circumstances of Jordan's life before them, she was full of grief and pain over it. They probably thought she was a widow, and they wouldn't be far off in Chris's opinion. As he often tried to convince Jordan, the evil within Wyatt had killed the man she married.

On this warm afternoon, as Chris strolled the streets, he caught glimpses of his very distinctive nephew running with the other boys in and out of buildings, playing some chasing game.

_Riccio_ was easy to spot among his olive-skinned playmates, his sun-bleached curls wild and bright and the tanned skin of his bare chest still lighter than that of his friends. Phoenix had a distinctive laugh, as well, always had, and when he would catch up with a playmate and tag him, he would throw his head back and laugh with innocent glee.

Like his island companions, Phoenix never asked about his father: he enjoyed his mama's smile too much to do so. He made brief references to Wyatt's existence occasionally in Chris's solitary company, but never inquired more about just where his daddy was. Chris doubted he would ever ask.

The devotion between mother and son was greater than any Chris had ever seen. It had been evident since Phoenix's conception, and the uncle knew that it was this empathetic bond which spared his mother a curious child's constant questions about his paternity. Phoenix was intensely protective of his mother, and when he sensed her presence entering the village, he would rush to her side, small hand slipping into hers as he led her about.

"_Signor_," his thoughts were interrupted. He turned around to see an old woman with a loaf of bread tucked in the crook of her arm.

"Hello, ma'am," he greeted in her native language. His ability to speak her language was one he silently thanked his father's memory for every day.

The woman nodded her creased face, eyes smiling reverently from under her scarf.

"Take this to _la nostra duchessa_, please, _signor,_" she asked, pushing the bread into his hands. "To thank her for helping my granddaughter."

The thought that Jordan had an amazingly capable local cook never crossed Chris's mind as he graciously accepted her gift of gratitude. He did not know what Jordan had done for the girl, but he was sure it was some great deed performed with his sister-in-law's usual subtlety.

"Uncle Chris! Do you wanna play?" Phoenix suddenly called from somewhere in the marketplace. Chris turned around looking for his nephew, but couldn't find his familiar curly head.

"Up here!"

Chris glanced up and found Phoenix hanging upside down above him from the canopy of a local fisherman's stall.

"Phee," Chris chuckled lightly at the boy's plain mischievousness. Phoenix had that excited look in his blue eyes that meant he had an idea; Wyatt had often displayed that look during Round Table meetings. "Get down from there. We should head back to your mama about now. She wants you to read a chapter of _Robin Hood_ before dinner."

"Got it," Phoenix saluted quickly before flipping right side up.

"I'll get a head start and see if you can keep up, alright, Phee?"

The boy nodded enthusiastically before sliding onto the ground. The fisherman laughed at the sudden arrival and handed him a pear before sending him on his way.

As they walked back up towards the villa, Phoenix just a bit behind Chris for now, the mischievous look continued to haunt Chris. Wyatt had displayed that identical look during that fateful Round Table meeting where he had asked Chris to go watch over Jordan and Phoenix while he took the other "knights" (other witches Wyatt considered loyal advisors) to the Underworld to find Zankou. It was that day, talking late into the night while little Phee slept and Jordan worried about her husband, that Chris had realized he was in love with the angel. It had terrified him and exhilarated him at the same time. It had also changed everything.

"Ha!" Phoenix cried, tagging Chris from behind before running ahead. "Caught you, Uncle Chris."

_So did your father,_ Chris thought morbidly, suddenly sick to his stomach.

"That you did, Phee. Hey, I've got a question."

"Shoot!" Phoenix called over his shoulder as he continued to run ahead, determined to beat his uncle.

"What do you think about your Grams coming to visit you for a bit, huh?"

Phoenix stopped short, feet skidding on the pebble-strewn path and kicking up dust. "Really?"

"Yeah, for a little bit."

"I miss Grams," the boy answered, face falling a bit. "Mama says she's too busy to see us bunches."

"Yeah, I know, Phee."

It was not the whole truth, but Jordan could not bring herself to tell her son why it was too dangerous for his grandmother to see him very often, to tell him that his grandmother lived in constant fear of his father.

"Think she'll play with me?"

"Whatever you want," Chris promised honestly. He knew his mother could deny nothing to her only grandson.

"Mama!" Phoenix cried as they mounted the marble steps of the villa, promptly forgetting their earlier conversation. Chris followed Phoenix's gaze up to the balcony where his mother leaned against the stone railing.

"Hey there, handsome," Jordan returned, a soft smile on her lips and brown hair pulled in a loose braid at the nape of her neck, "How were your friends today?"

"Carlo and Cesare went with their papás on their boats in the morning while Silvio and I were studying here," Phoenix shouted continuously as he ducked into the house, taking the stairs of the stairway in the entrance hall two at a time in hopes of meeting his mother more quickly.

A sudden wave of panic crested in Chris's heart at "papá", but Phee continued chattering about subjects other than paternity.

"They got a giant fish, Mama… Carlo called it a _branzino_"

"Sea bass!" Jordan laughed, meeting Phoenix half-way down the curling stairs and enfolding him in a hug. "A giant one, you say?"

"Yep," Phoenix confirmed. "Signor Cognomi still has it if you wanna see it, Mama."

"Oh, that's all right. Maybe Chef Giovanni will want to see it. You can ask him when he brings out our dinner. Are you staying tonight as well, Christopher?"

"Just for dinner; you can tell Seilya she can change my sheets now," Chris answered, "She's been bugging me about that all week."

Jordan half-smiled, ushering Phoenix, and consequently Chris, up the remaining stairs.

"One chapter before dinner, Phee," Jordan instructed, sending the boy towards his room to retrieve _Robin Hood_.

"But Mama!" Phoenix whined, "I read two chapters last night!"

"But Phoenix!" Jordan mimicked, "A deal is a deal. One chapter a night before dinner, at least. You can't stockpile chapters for when you don't feel like reading."

"Ma-ma!"

"Leo Phoenix Berkley Halliwell, one chapter, now," Jordan ordered, evenly and calmly, but with the compelling intensity only a mother can employ.

"Yes, Mama," Phoenix complied, moping down the hallway towards his room.

Jordan settled back into the chair she had been resting in before her son had returned home. Chris remained standing, crossing to the railing and looking out towards the ocean breakers. Phoenix soon joined them, a retreating sulk still clouding his little face, intent on his reading.

At dinner, Phoenix commanded most of the conversation, as usual.

"And then Robin Hood grabs a… a… quarter… something…"

"Staff," Jordan supplied, "Quarterstaff."

"Right!" Phee exclaimed, "A quarterstaff. And then he fights with Little John on a log…"

His young voiced faded into the background as Chris studied the dining room around him. It was open air, with heavy curtains restrained above each archway in case of inclement weather. The sun was completing its descent to the west, and the day's heat was fading. A copper fire pit on iron legs sat in a corner, its smoldering coals fighting back the cool sea breeze and adding a pleasant, soothing effect to the entire room.

Chris loved this place, despite the sorrow, past and present, he associated with it. He loved the ocean views, the salt air, the hospitable people, and the simplicity of a life in which the afternoon's conflicts were forgotten by the time the final supper dish had been placed on the table.

"Mama, Uncle Chris says Grams might come visit."

Those words jumped out of the conversation and returned Chris to the here and now.

"Really?" Jordan questioned, eyes jumping up to meet Chris's. "Did he say when?"

Chris apologized with his eyes, realizing he should have discussed it with the mother before informing the son.

"She hasn't decided, yet; she's still trying to work out the details."

Several events had to fall into place in order for Piper to make her way out to her grandson's home, including a diversion for the demons constantly watching her and someone to provide transportation.

"I wish she still came over for dinner like before," Phoenix said, a bit sadly.

Jordan and Chris froze, attention locked on the boy.

"Before what, sweetheart?" Jordan tried cautiously, a faint tremor in her voice.

Phoenix had never before mentioned any events that had taken place prior to the chaos, nor even given any indication that he remembered life before the Mediterranean.

"Before we moved here. When I was a baby… She came to eat with us a lot… I remember her sitting across from me. Where did we live then?"

Jordan blanched, and the tremor traveled from her voice to her hand. She set her fork down before it could make enough noise against the plate for little Phee to notice. Despite her distress, she somehow drew upon the threads of the inner strength she had managed to keep and, with a deep breath, ceased the shaking.

"Much closer to Grams," she offered in a steady voice, placing a now-still hand over her son's. She paused to let that settle into him and then smoothly changed the subject. "Was Chef Giovanni interested in Signor Cognomi's fish?"

"Yup. Went as soon as he was done cooking."

"Good, I thought he would."

Conversation came to a somewhat comfortable lull as the boy absorbed himself in his food and his mother absorbed herself in watching him. Chris felt suddenly like an outsider, even though he was family and they accepted him such. He seemed back in that Magic School dining room at that moment, the morning after realizing his love for his brother's wife. He was watching the king and queen, so wrapped in their world of perfection, dote upon their son and each other. As back then, the exclusion was not deliberate, but natural.

_He's starting to remember, _Chris thought to himself. _He'll start asking questions about Wyatt soon._

Jordan caught Chris's eye, and he knew that she realized how close to remembering Phoenix was. There was a nearly mad fear in her pale green eyes. For not the first time, Chris cursed the biggest result of Wyatt's fall: the gradual loss of Jordan's once stubborn confidence and its replacement by a nearly constant terror.


	4. Chapter Three: Gifts & Curses

**Chapter Three**

_"I see your face with every punch I take, and every bone I break, its all for you. And my worst pains are words I cannot say. Still I will always fight on for you. Fight on for you. Fight on for you..." Yellowcard, "Gifts & Curses"_

**_Magic School, 2029_**

The next morning Jordan was again awakened by someone colliding with her abdomen. This morning, however, her son was not the culprit; today it was her husband's head burrowed in her stomach, his blond hair rustling against the thin fabric of her tank top.

"Wyatt," she managed through a few yawns, eyes focusing on the earnest face resting on her stomach after momentary blurs. He looked tired and dusty, but less worried than she had seen him in a very long time. "Is everything okay, darling?"

"It's going to be. Finally, it's going to be," Wyatt promised, raising up on his arms and capturing her lips in a kiss more gentle and sensual than any they had shared recently.

When Jordan eventually broke it off, her hands cradled her husband's face, thumbs rubbing away the black smudges spotting his face, his two-day stubble rough against her soft fingers.

"Where have you been?" she asked, smiling gently as she met his eyes and continued to brush away the grime.

"The Underworld… Fixing a few things…"

Jordan opened her mouth to inquire more, but Wyatt silenced her with another kiss.

"I'll tell you more, later, I swear… Now, I just want to hold you, beautiful," he said in a near-whisper, pressing his forehead to hers.

Tears pricked Jordan's eyes as Wyatt slipped his hands under her back, burying his face in her chest in almost desperation.

"Where's Phee?" she asked as she began to run her fingers through her husband's dark blond hair, sliding the ever-growing curls apart from the tangles they were tending to recently.

"I had Chris take him to the Manor. Did my brother take good care of you last night?"

His voice was sweetly muffled by her breasts, and there was something innocent in his over-protectiveness this morning.

"Of course: he always does. He stayed up with me most of the night and let me worry without judging or telling me I was crazy. I do worry about you, you know."

Wyatt shifted so he could look into her green eyes.

"I know," he affirmed, "And I worry about you. That's why Chris is the only one I will trust to take care of you and Phoenix."

"I'm a big girl, and I can take care of myself. I did it for about twenty years before you came into my life."

"I know that, too. But having Chris keep you company, and be here just in case, makes me feel better," Wyatt explained, laying his head back again.

"Alright… I don't mind having Christopher around. You can win this one."

Wyatt's face popped up. "Whoa. Really?"

Jordan laughed, tickling Wyatt's chin with her body's vibrations.

"Yes, darling. I'm so sick of fighting."

Wyatt pushed himself up to kiss her forehead. "I love you so much, Jordan."

"I know, Wy," his wife grinned, leaning forward to kiss him again. "I love you, too."

"There is this one thing, though," Wyatt started while entwining his fingers with hers and peppering light kisses on her neck and face. "That really bugs me about you."

"Oh really?" she questioned, pulling back slightly.

"Yep," he began to grin, their fingers continuing to wrestle. "It's totally unfair how you are forty-nine years old…"

"Shush, you!" Jordan objected, elbow connecting gently with his chest.

"**Forty-nine**!" he continued in a shout, a mischievous grin (one quite similar to their young son's) spreading across his face as he lowered his voice back to its previous volume. "And you still look nineteen, while I am twenty-seven and definitely look it. Very unfair."

Jordan laughed again. "Oh, you love it. Makes everyone think you've married some sweet young thing. It's good for your male ego."

"Yeah, but _you're_ really the one who married a 'sweet young thing'."

"Ah, yes. You caught me. I'm a cradle-robber," she teased.

Wyatt chuckled. "I knew it!"

"Okay, okay, Your Excellency. Go wash up and change into something clean. Then you'll be allowed to come cuddle up under these sheets."

"Awww, but Your Majesty!"

"Those are the rules, darling. Seilya just changed these sheets, and I won't have you getting dirt all in them. Now, scoot… And hurry."

_

* * *

_

_Oh, shit!_

The same thought repeated over and over and over in Chris's head as he held said head in his hands.

His mother looked up from the napping boy on her lap.

"Are you alright, Chris?"

"Yeah, fine," Chris lied, "Just a headache."

_'Cause I just realized I was head-over-heels for my sister-in-law! Oh shit!_

"Chris…"

"It's nothing, Mom," Chris replied, standing and going over to the wicker couch where his mother and nephew sat. "I guess I'm just frustrated by the way Wyatt's been treating Jordan recently."

_He doesn't deserve her: he does nothing but take her for granted._

"I'd advise staying out of your older brother's marital issues," Piper laughed gently, hands softly combing Phoenix's blond curls.

"I know," Chris answered, sitting on the coffee table and looking up at his mom. "But he leaves her home alone every night, worrying about him, not telling her where he is. Then he shows up in the morning like everything is fine, expecting her to be happy to see him."

"Where was he last night?"

"The Underworld," Chris sighed, "Searching for some demon named Zankou. I don't know what he wants with him. He never tells me anything except "Go stay with Jordan and Phoenix." Like I'm his personal family-sitter."

"That's a lot of trust he gives you, though. He doesn't let anyone else from the Round Table look after his family. You're his baby brother, and he trusts you."

"Not enough to tell me what the hell he's doing down there," Chris grumbled.

"Hey! Watch the language around the baby," Piper smiled gently, trying to cheer her younger son up as she placed a hand on her grandson's ear.

Chris sighed heavily, knowing he was not going to get anywhere with his mother; she had a hard time seeing any faults in the son she had raised.

Phoenix stirred, bright blue eyes flickering open and locking on his uncle's

"Hey there, buddy," Chris softened his voice, filling it with the affection he felt for the boy.

Phee yawned, picking his head up to see his grandmother.

"Morning, handsome," Piper smiled as he climbed up her and burrowed his head in her shoulder. "Not a morning person, are you, Phee?"

Chris chuckled despite himself. "He gets that from his dad."

"And Aunt Phoebe," Piper laughed.

"G'ams," the boy's small voice started. "Where Mama?"

"She's at home. With Daddy," Piper answered.

Phoenix's face screwed up in concentration, and Chris knew he was about to orb home. With a morose smile, Chris realized that that would not be the best course of action right now.  
"Hold it, mister," Chris said forcefully, "You have to stay here with Grams and Uncle Chris until Mama and Daddy come to get you. Got it?"

Phoenix pouted, but nodded in agreement. "Want Mama."

"I know, sweetie," Piper soothed. "She'll come to get you soon. How about you go build me something with your blocks?"

She set her sleepy grandson on the ground, and he toddled over to his wooden blocks.

"Jordan says he won't stay in the nursery at Magic School," Chris told her. "He just keeps orbing back to her."

Piper grinned. "Wyatt was the same way."

"You should give her some tips… I think she's a little bored."

Just then, the front door opened, and his cousin's voice reached into the sun room.

"Knock, knock."

"Hi, Casey. How was dinner with your dad last night?" Piper asked as Casey Halliwell bounced into the room.

Chris and Casey did not agree on many things and rarely get along. For Chris, raised Up There, magic was a very serious matter. For Casey, raised in a world where magic was forbidden until she was eighteen, magic was new and exciting, something to be explored to its fullest possibilities and used as often as possible. Wyatt loved her, loved her confidence and spunk, and with her levitation and telekinesis, she made a more than capable right hand. Chris, however, thought she was too reckless and irreverent, more focused on expanding her powers than the greater scheme of things.

"It went alright, I guess. My brothers and sister are crazy kids. They kept me up all night telling jokes. Speaking of crazy kids, hey Phee!"

"Hi," Phee grinned, looking up from his blocks with a slight wave.

Casey joined Phoenix on the ground, helping him construct his high tower.

"Where's Wyatt?" she asked. "I'm a bit peeved with him… Seems he didn't think an expedition into the Underworld was a big enough break to call me."

"He's with Jordan. Enjoying some alone time," Chris answered, trying not to cringe.

"Ah," Casey grinned knowingly. "I guess I'll beat him up over it later. Know anything about what happened down there, Chris?"

"No. I was on family-sitting duty. He got back this morning, said hi to Phoenix, and rushed in to see Jordan. He seemed better than recently, though."

"He'll probably want to hold a meeting whenever he emerges," Casey commented as she placed the finishing touch (a triangular yellow block) atop her and Phoenix's masterpiece.

"Yeah, he will," Chris responded distantly as Phoenix toppled their creation.

"Hey there, Godzilla!" Casey cried, mock-angry. "We worked hard on that building!"

Phoenix shrieked with laughter as Casey grabbed him by the waist and tickled his tummy.

"That wasn't very nice, Phee," Piper scolded playfully.

Chris sighed again. He was not going to get anywhere with either of them. They'd been with Wyatt as he had grown up and now saw him as some sort of god, Casey especially. In their eyes, if Wyatt was behaving poorly to his wife, the woman with whom Chris was now in love, he must have a good reason. Maybe they were right, and Wyatt was without fault, and everything would work out all right. Maybe Chris was just jealous. Since he could not discuss the matter with his usual confidant Jordan, he made it his goal to bring at least part of it to his father for advice.

* * *

Later that night, after enduring a meal (at Jordan's insistence) of the King and Queen laughing, flirting, and doting upon their son, Chris joined Wyatt for coffee in the dining room while Jordan put Phoenix to bed.

Wyatt leaned over conspiratorially. "First thing tomorrow, I'm calling together the Round Table. I think Drax and I've found the demon who's threatening Jordan and Phoenix."

"There's a demon after Phee and Jay!" I exclaimed, immediately on the defensive.

"Shhh! I don't want Jordan worrying about it, alright? You can't tell her."

"Is it Zankou?"

"No, no. A mutual enemy of Zankou's and mine. I'll explain it all tomorrow. Gotta catch Case up too."

"She's really pissed about last night."

"Nah, she's just annoyed that she missed out on a trip to the Underworld and some demon vanquishing. She loves me too much to stay too mad."

He was right about that, Chris knew. About all of it. Casey _was_ extremely trigger-happy, but Wyatt always laughed it off, saying that is what made her such a great right hand and that she would calm down with age. Chris hoped his brother was right.

"Alright, boys, you have to keep it quiet now," Jordan smiled, emerging from Phoenix's bedroom.

"I was just headed back to the Manor, anyway," Chris said, rising to his feet. He nodded at his brother. "Just tell me when and where."

"Got it, little brother."

Jordan kissed his cheek farewell, and Chris stifled the heat rising within him as the touch of her lips.

"Don't let him give you too hard of a time," was all Chris could manage before he orbed out as Jordan settled into her husband's lap with a laugh at whatever he had said in her ear.

_Oh shit._


	5. Chapter Four: Godspeed

**Chapter Four**

_"Godspeed, little man. Sweet dreams, little man. All my love will fly to you this night on angels' wings." Dixie Chicks, "Godspeed"_

**_

* * *

Somewhere in the Mediterranean, 2033_**

"Who's this?" Phoenix asked as he scurried up onto the couch beside his mother, wooden picture frame in hand.

Jordan took the frame from her son, brows drawn together in confusion similar to Phee's.

"Where'd you find this, little man?"

"Silvio and I found it when we were climbing in the library," he admitted easily, then stopped. His blue eyes widened as he realized that he had confessed to a grievous sin. He clapped his hand to his mouth and turned away, burying his face in the couch pillow.

"Oops, huh?" Jordan could not help but grin. "Phoenix, those books and shelves are old and special, and I don't want you climbing on them."

"Yes, Mama. I'm sorry," he answered, muffled by the pillow and his hand.

"Alright, just don't do it again. Now let's see about this picture," Jordan smiled, flipped over the frame, and froze at the pair of liquid brown eyes staring back at her.

"She seems familiar, Mama," Phoenix explained as he sat up, and then trailed off as he noticed his mother's frozen posture. "Mama?"

She had not thought about Casey in a long time, mostly because she rarely thought anymore except about her son and his father.

Jordan and Casey had been close before the chaos, but Casey had fallen in conjunction with Wyatt, ever faithful to her revered cousin. Her defection had made the fall that much harder on Wyatt's queen, making that many more tears slip past her defenses.

There had been a connection between the two since the first time twelve-year-old Casey bumped elbows with the angel at the Halliwell dinner table. They had told each other nearly everything: Casey had counseled Jordan through many marital squabbles while Jordan had guided Casey back into the magical fold.

Eighteen year old Casey had even been Jordan's maid of honor, her only bridesmaid. Since the very essence of Camelot demanded that she and Wyatt relinquish their Baker High friends, family was their only outlet. Jordan had thought she was prepared to lose her friends, since she'd known it was coming all along. She even stayed a year longer than originally planned. Graduation, however, proved her wrong. Not without tears, Wyatt Halliwell and Jordan Berkeley left their high school friends behind (for a small liberal arts school back East and the Australian outback, respectively) to become the next King and Queen of Camelot. With the loss of Jess and Madi, Casey quickly became Jordan's only girlfriend and confidante.

Despite their friendship, however, Casey was foremost loyal to her beloved cousin Wyatt. This was no problem during the good years, when everyone was undyingly loyal to Wyatt, even Chris. But when the chaos came, Casey chose Wyatt without hesitation, while Jordan chose Phoenix. They had not seen each other since.

And now those deep brown eyes were smiling tauntingly from a forgotten snapshot from Casey's twenty-first birthday party (organized by Mrs. Halliwell herself) at the lonely Jordan. The angel had devoted her immortal life to her son, to his security and happiness. She wouldn't give that up for anything, but deep within her she ached for a confidante again. She no longer had Wyatt or Casey to spill her heart out to, and her relationship with Chris (her listener since before he could listen) had been emotionally distant at best since the precursor to the chaos.

"That, little man, is Aunt Phoebe's daughter, Casey," a new voice interrupted Jordan's stunned reverie.

"Grams!" Phoenix exclaimed, leaping up to bury his head in her stomach as a part of his bone-crunching hug.

"Hi, Phee," Piper, the oldest and only surviving Charmed One, greeted her only grandchild with a smile. "It's so _good _to _see_ you."

The picture was immediately forgotten in the wake of the matriarch's arrival. Phoenix immediately began to pummel his Grams with questions about life and stories of his island exploits as Riccio, Prince of the Hill.

Jordan watched the contrasting pair walk down the open hall, hand in hand. One was the last, aggrieved echo of a much brighter time, and the other the luminescent only hope of a grieving generation.

The four years in hiding had dramatically aged Piper Halliwell. It wasn't the constant, paranoid fear of discovery that got to her, like it had her younger son: it was the idle watching while her older son destroyed the world she had sworn to protect, the helpless looking on while her heart's joy jealously murdered the other recipients of her affection.

Paige had gone first, by Casey's hand but Wyatt's order. Phoebe's death had been slower, her life gradually drained away by the pain of her only child's betrayal. It had only been a year since Phoebe's body failed, but it seemed to Piper like she had truly lost both sisters in one blow.

Leo had been the last of the Elders to go, though he had not been strongly associated with the magical council since Wyatt's late adolescence. His death had occurred two and a half years ago, the victim of direct patricide at the hands of the son he had sacrificed everything to protect. The thought still made Piper shudder.

But she did not fear for her own safety, never had. To Chris, the hiding was about staying alive, To Jordan, the hiding was about saving Phoenix's soul. To Piper, the hiding was Wyatt's own unique brand of torturing his mother. He had already stolen everyone but Chris, Jordan, and Phoenix, and the constant hunt for the remainders of the Halliwell clan was specifically engineered to keep the rest of her loved ones away.

And the hunt, Piper knew, would go on ceaselessly. Wyatt's cronies scoured every plane of existence day in and day out, and would continue to until the King's wife and, most importantly, son were returned to the dark mockery of Camelot. Piper had heard the order repeated by a bounty hunter once:

_"So Zankou says ta me, 'The King's clearly outlined the terms: the son, alive, and the Queen, alive if possible.' She _is _a traitor, ya know, and that she's the mother of the heir is the on'y thin' keepin' her from the immediate execution list. Zankou tol' me that the King said it would be 'understandable' if the Queen were to be killed in a successful exercise to return the prince."_

Piper, however, did not believe that Wyatt would keep anyone alive who had killed Jordan, regardless of how much he might have "understood" the circumstances. As a result of this well known fact, most attempts to find Phoenix and Jordan were blazingly unsuccessful.

Also adding to the failures was Phoebe's last, enduring gift to the Halliwell line: the spell protecting the island. Tucked away form more conventional types of reconnaissance and guarded against any magical creatures save the remaining good Halliwells, the elf Seilya, and Wessex, Phoenix's half-leprechaun tutor, the island provided the ideal hide-out for the fugitive Queen and Prince.

* * *

As Phoenix crawled up beside her just a few short hours after her arrival, clad in his long, white cotton nightshirt, his round face scrubbed clean, curls wet and combed, and teeth brushed, begging for a bedtime story, the running, the hiding, and the death seemed to Piper a steep, but worthy, price to pay for precious moments like this. She remembered how as a toddler he would wail for his Gramps to tuck him in any night he stayed over: her strong little man didn't even ask for Leo now, though Piper was positive he remembered. He remembered Aunt Phoebe, too, Piper believed; the Phoebe he remembered, however, was not the same woman Piper wanted in his memories. Paige and Casey were for now lost to him, though Piper worried that the sharp boy would soon recall them, and more.

"Grams, how 'bout another one 'bout leprechauns? Ooh! Or elves… Yeah, elves'd be great. Like Seilya."

"Oh no, that's all for tonight, baby," Piper smiled, kissing his forehead. "Climb on into bed so I can tuck you in."

"Snug as a bug in a rug," he recited through a yawn, crawling under his covers.

Piper closed her eyes against the tears summoned by the young voice, dangerously reminiscent of his father's.

"That's right, baby," Piper smiled with watery eyes, leaning down to kiss his cheek and tuck the covers under his chin.

"Grams!" he objected, freeing his arms and wrapping them around her neck in a quick hug. "You know I like my arms free."

"Sorry, Phee."

"S'okay," he yawned, "'Night, Grams. Love you."

"I love you, too, little man."

She leaned over to extinguish the kerosene hurricane lamp by his bed and then crossed to the door. She waited in the doorway, turning for one last glance at his curl-framed face illuminated by the sliver of moonlight.

"G'ams?" Phoenix asked, sleepily. "Where do you…" Yawn. "…live?"

"Lots of places, my love. Goodnight."

She began to close the door.

"Grams?" he spoke again.

"Yeah, baby?" Piper tried to hide her exasperation.

"What's Magic School?"

Silence.

"Grams?"

She forced a laugh to cover her shock and teased, "That's enough questions for tonight, my sweet little boy. Sleep now. I love you."

Then she closed the door as quickly as possible without appearing suspicious. As soon as the door was closed, she pressed her back against it and tried to breathe.

_Why now? Why is he finally starting to remember? What does it mean if he does? _

These questions raced through Piper's mind before she could even stop to understand their gravity, and they were followed by innumerous others. Only one, however, slowed to a stop in her consciousness, mockingly still in front of her eyes.

_What if I lose him, too?_

* * *

Jordan stood on the balcony again, the one stretching out over the entranceway and overlooking the dusty road up the hill from the village. She was almost always there, surveying the place that could never be home, no matter how much she loved the island, its residents, or the villa that warmly embraced her. Her son called it home, she knew, and it would always claim him as its own. His bare feet left indelible prints in the streets below and on the beach beyond, just as the Mediterranean sun, the warm, salty air, and the affectionate smiles of the villagers had become ingrained in the heart of her little boy.

But her home would always be a pink Victorian on the shores of another ocean, on the other side of the world. It was there she had fallen in love, seen life with the kind of youthful innocence she thought would never be taken from her. Her mortal life had ended so abruptly that she had never even known love before, nor felt the hollow ache that follows irrevocable loss. Then, she met Wyatt Halliwell face-to-face for the first time.

She had watched him from afar for all of his life, knew of many of his greatest achievements and deepest disappointments. She had thought she had known him before she even turned the corner and purposely bumped into him on that late August afternoon. But as she had fallen to the ground (not so purposely) and he had picked her up off the rough concrete, she discovered that there was something more to Wyatt than could be observed from afar, something snug in his gentle touch, kind eyes, and genuine smile. He could make anyone feel like she was the most important person in the world and know it was not an act.

They became fast friends: the White Lighter in each allowing a very candid connection. He was modest, even a bit shy at times, but could command the attention of an entire room if he wanted too. He was charming without trying to be, and chivalrous without even thinking about it. Jordan attributed the latter to his upbringing at the hands of three strong women.

She fell in love with him within the first month. She wouldn't say instantly; that was too cliché, and it was not entirely true. But she fought it for months afterward (six to be exact), knowing the Elders would never approve, knowing it was against the rules. The age difference never bothered her, since, she bitterly remembered now, she would nineteen forever.

One Saturday morning on her doorstep had too easily changed everything. The next ten years had been bliss. Those years had seen a love strengthen and grow. They had seen a proposal, Wyatt on one knee in the attic. They had seen a wedding, two expansive smiles filling the living room. They had seen a birth, another amazing baby boy entering with a flourish. They had seen family dinners and Christmases and laughs and smiles and tears. A family was reunited and growing.

And then it came crashing down.

A part of her, one she struggled every day to keep buried deep inside, still hated Christopher for the role he played. Another part, one not nearly as hidden, still hated herself for her own responsibility, for her own weakness, her own loneliness. No part of her hated Wyatt, no part of her could ever hate Wyatt. She feared him, yes. In fact, she was absolutely terrified of him, and her gut twisted with sick horror at how very wrong it was that her love for her husband occupied the same space in her mind as complete fear for her life and that of her son.

Her dreams were filled with what-ifs. She had been aware of Christopher's growing affection for some time before that night; she was, after all, a White Lighter. Weeks at a time passed where she forgot that fact. Maybe if she had spoken to him sooner, thrown cold water on whatever dreams were occupying his mind, none of this would have happened. He was still young, and still sheltered. He had, indeed, spent three years "in the real world", attending Baker High School, but afterwards returned to a world with little opportunity for first loves.

She hadn't stopped it, however. In fact, she had evenbeen a little flattered by the constant attention, since her husband only gave his in manic spurts. She had never meant for it to get as far as it did, never meant for Christopher to feel comfortable enough to do what he did. But she had allowed it to, and he had been comfortable enough, and it had all spun out of control.


End file.
